


All I Can Breathe

by Claire



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Aliens Made Them Do It, And the dub-con inherent within, Hence the non-con tag, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-26
Updated: 2007-08-26
Packaged: 2019-01-20 10:57:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12431340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claire/pseuds/Claire
Summary: Aliens make them do it. With an audience.





	All I Can Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the Ocean View 2 zine.

Teyla's face is tight as she's led back into the hut, guards pushing her slightly as they close the door and lock them in.

John steps forward. "Teyla?" Because if anyone can get them out of this without violence it's Teyla.

Teyla shakes her head. "They are adamant that tribute must be paid for the offence."

Only they hadn't known. They hadn't known that the ruins were an old temple. Hadn't known that stepping foot inside would offend the god it was dedicated to. A god who demanded tribute for the offence of trespass; a god of death who demanded tribute for himself. The thing is, John's sure that Rodney would have gone in even if he _had_ known. Drawn in by promises of energy readings that jumped off the scale and the phantom of the possibility of a ZPM. And now Rodney is gone, locked away somewhere that isn't with them.

"We should have fought our way out."

There's a part of John that thinks Ronon's right; that thinks they should have swept through to the gate in a river of bullets and bodies. "We're here to open trade negotiations, Ronon, not kill people."

"And now McKay is going to die."

"There is another way," Teyla says, before John can reply. Before he can tell Ronon that they've got out of worse situations than this. That they've survived the Wraith and the Genii, and he's not about to let a group of superstitious villagers kill one of his team.

"Hadea is not only this world's god of death," Teyla continues. "He is also the god of fertility. The tribute can be given in either way. They have agreed to let Dr McKay offer tribute by way of fertility instead of by death."

Spill blood or spill semen. And John is sure that if one of the anthropologists were here, they'd have something to say; something about blood and death and life all being the same circle.

"So all Rodney has to do is take one for the team and we're out of here?"

Teyla nods.

"Well, the temple's priestess was pretty cute, and it'll give Rodney a good story to tell." And it's not John bagging the alien priestess this time, so Rodney has no right to complain.

But the look on Teyla's face says it'll be anything but that easy. "You misunderstand, Colonel. Since Dr McKay is the one who offended, then he must be the supplicant."

Yeah, not that easy at all.

"They will allow it to be one of us, one of you," she amends, eyes meeting John's before they slide over to Ronon. "It is either that or one of the temple guards."

Because John is about to let Rodney get fucked by some random guy, especially when he doesn't even know if Rodney's ever had a passing thought about another man, never mind acted on it. It's one of the things he's never asked, one of the things Rodney's never told.

"I'll do it." The offer falls easily from Ronon's lips.

"No." Because John trusts Ronon with his life, but he doesn't trust him with this. He needs to be the one up there with Rodney, and if he keeps telling himself it's purely because he needs to know that Rodney is okay, then he knows he'll believe it. "I'll do it."

Teyla nods once and walks to the door, speaking quickly with the guard outside, who comes in and points to John.

"Follow me."

He leads John to a building where the preparation for what he's about to do is nothing more than "drink this and wear those." The pants are soft and loose, fabric brushing against his legs with each step. The 'drink this' is more of a problem, until John is reminded that tribute can be paid in another way if John is unhappy with this one.

The liquid tastes like ginger as it goes down his throat, warm and spicy and settling into the pit of his stomach with a burning heat and radiating towards his cock with a dizzying rush.

"We must make sure the tribute is not over too soon." The voice of the priestess is musical and soft, and John gets harder with each word. "Please." She motions towards the door and John follows, sunlight brighter than he remembers assaulting his eyes as he steps out.

The village square is full of people, silent and staring, and John has the sudden urge to ask if anyone wants popcorn to go with the show. The crowd parts for him, revealing a dais with a stone chair, and three people already waiting for him. John dismisses the two guards to concentrate on the man in the middle. To concentrate on Rodney, standing there wearing only tight trousers and a collar, looking like a Master's wet dream come to life. John didn't think it was possible for his cock to get harder, but he's been wrong before. It feels like each step takes an eternity, and walking through a group of people, hard cock obviously outlined in loose trousers, and dog tags swinging against his bare chest feels like nothing more than the nightmares he used to have as a teenager.

Each step takes him closer to Rodney, until they're facing each other, bare inches separating them.

John reaches out, hand hovering over the red mark on Rodney's cheek. "What happened?"

"Tweedle-Dumb and Tweedle-Dumber here thought I was taking a bit too long in getting ready." The angry flush over Rodney's skin deepens, and John has to stop himself from leaning forward and licking the exposed flesh.

"You, sit." Tweedle-Dumb points to the chair as his friend puts his hands on Rodney's shoulders and pushes him down. "And you, down."

Rodney's knees hit the stone, and John hopes the crack he hears is just his imagination, but the wince that goes across Rodney's features tell him it's not.

They leave them there, John sitting like a king on his throne with Rodney kneeling in supplication. And if John reaches out, leans forward, then he can touch the man in front of him, can touch Rodney, who is looking down, who isn't meeting John's gaze.

"Rodney, look at me." The command is soft, practised, murmured with an ease John isn't exactly feeling. There's a beat, two, before Rodney finally looks up, finally meets John's eyes.

Rodney hates this; that much is written through every inch of his body. Hates being on his knees, hates the knowledge that a hundred eyes are burning into him. But John can't think of that; he has to keep focused on getting them out. If tribute isn't paid this way, then it'll be paid in the other, with red and pain and Rodney bleeding out on a planet that's not even home. And John will take Rodney's humiliation over Rodney's death any day, even if he's the instrument of it.

"Rodney, there's no one else here." Voice pitched low and soothing, and John can't help but think of the cat he had when he was young, and the way it had had to be coaxed out of the tree in his neighbour's yard one day.

"No one here but us and the rest of the village," Rodney snaps, head starting to turn.

John leans forward, fingers reaching out to grasp Rodney's chin and hold him. "There's no one here but us," he repeats, unwilling to let Rodney look back into the sea of faces.

Rodney stiffens fractionally before he relaxes. "Fine, there's no one here but us."

"Rodney--" John lets his fingers slip from Rodney's face.

"I-- I know." He glances down, his fingers flexing once before he looks back up. He crosses the distance between them in an easy crawl, the tension John can see in his shoulders the only evidence that Rodney's not exactly here by choice. Moving between John's spread legs, Rodney places a hand on his thigh, the other moving to the loose trousers John is wearing. The fastening opens and John's hard cock springs out, ready and waiting.

Rodney's head dips and then he stops, gaze fixed on the hardness in front of him, and the thought that runs through John is one he doesn't want.

"Is this--?" Because Rodney's first time with a man shouldn't be in this setting.

A sharp laugh answers him. "God, no," Rodney replies. "First time with an audience, but hey, there's a first time for everything, right." There's a soft flush of humiliation creeping over Rodney's body at the knowledge of the people watching them.

John's hand reaches out, touches Rodney's cheek as he repeats his earlier words. "No one here--"

"But us," Rodney finishes.

No one but them, the village, and a priestess who doesn't look happy that they're taking so long. A priestess who doesn't care for Rodney's pride, doesn't care for the burning shame John knows is running through Rodney at this moment.

"Rodney, we need to--" And John's never going to be able to finish a sentence while he's still on this planet.

"I know." But Rodney still doesn't move, still doesn't tear his eyes away from John's cock.

John's fingers move to the back of Rodney's head, running carefully through the soft hair as he guides Rodney, pushing him down gently; infinite control in fingers that can kill, that _have_ killed.

"Rodney, suck me." John can't help but speak like Rodney's the virgin John knows he isn't, all soft words and coaxing lilt.

Stormy blue eyes meet hazel before the gaze is dropped, resolute and a tint of anger that Rodney can't hide. Moving forward, Rodney's mouth opens, tongue darting out to lap at the head of John's cock before it is engulfed in heat. If John could, he'd stop time for this moment. Tongue and teeth working on flesh they've never known before, and if John knew it was going to be this good he would never have held back. He'd never have stopped himself from reaching out all those times. His fingers tighten in Rodney's hair as a tongue swirls over the head of his cock. John realizes he shouldn't have been worried about this being Rodney's first time, because this is the expertise of a thousand blowjobs in a thousand places giving Rodney what he needs to know. Giving Rodney each movement, each motion he needs to push John to the very brink.

John's fingers curl, sliding along slick stone, as Rodney's head drops and John's cock is taken in to the root. "Rodney!"

Name gasped out as Rodney starts to hum, the fine tremors sending John over the edge, sending John flooding into Rodney's throat. A hand on Rodney's head keeps him there, holds him while John pours his being into him. And Rodney lets him, not moving even as soft fingers caress his scalp as he swallows. Stays on his knees, mouth full until John's hand moves away. Only then does Rodney sit back, cock slipping from between his lips, wet with saliva. Sits back, still proud even as the light reflects off his collar and colours dance into the sky. Tongue darting out to lick at the corner of his mouth as his eyes fix on John's. But it's not over yet, because John is still hard, still wanting. And a village is still watching.

John reaches out, hands shaking as he fumbles at the fastenings to the trousers Rodney is wearing. A snap and a shimmy and the butter soft material peels down Rodney's legs as he steps out of them, leaving him naked apart from the collar.

Sharp need runs through John with the sight of Rodney, flush of red over his skin and cock hard and leaking. Hazel eyes lift and meet blue, and all thoughts of voyeuristic villagers are forgotten. John's hand shoots out and grabs Rodney's wrist, pulling him forward, the other arm reaching out to steady Rodney as he stumbles with the abruptness of the movement. John's eyes refuse to break contact with Rodney's as John lifts Rodney's wrist, knowing there will be a band of bruises where his fingers are. John tugs Rodney forward again and Rodney knows what to do. In one fluid motion he straddles John's thighs, wrist still in John's grasp even as his other hand reaches back to grasp John's cock, aligning their bodies together. And John can feel it, the head of his cock pressing against the opening to Rodney's body. Can feel the heat coming from the man on top of him, can feel Rodney's body just waiting to be breached.

"Do it."

Rodney nods, his hand coming forward to press against John's chest, steadying himself as he pushes back.

John can feel the slickness between Rodney's cheeks, and realises that this is something else that was done before Rodney was brought out, another transgression to add against this planet.

John's head falls back as Rodney pushes down, body opening around John's cock. Heat and want and need envelope him in a tight grip, as Rodney's ass is flush against his thighs.

"John--"

His name is a whisper, a plea, and when he looks up, Rodney is shaking.

"I--"

Rodney's voice edges into a gasp as John pushes up, moving even deeper into Rodney's body.

"Move." John doesn't care that he's begging, will beg forever if it'll just get Rodney to do something. "For the love of god, Rodney, just _move_."

So Rodney does. He pushes himself up off John's cock until only the head remains inside his body and holds himself there until John meets his eyes.

"Just us," he murmurs. Then he drops himself back down, spine arching as John meets him with an upward thrust of his own.

John's fingers tighten around Rodney's wrist, feeling the bones shift underneath his grip with each movement. Rodney's head is thrown back and all John can feel is Rodney surrounding him, molten and wanting and _there_. He reaches out and grasps Rodney's cock, stripping it in time with the thrusts into his body.

Time slides away, lost in a miasma of desire and need and Rodney, until finally, _finally_ , Rodney's body tightens and John's hand is coated. The rippling running through Rodney's muscles pull John's own orgasm from him, and John's scream joins Rodney's as he empties himself into the man astride him.

Rodney slumps forward, breath heavy and forehead resting on John's chest as the spent cock slips from his body.

John watches as the priestess steps on the dais, addressing the crowd with spread arms. "The tribute has been paid!"

Rodney can't see her, but a puff of laughter escapes him at the words.

"Rodney?" Because maybe this is time for the hysteria they haven't been able to have before now.

But when Rodney looks at him, his eyes aren't lit with hysteria, but satiation tinged with humour. "So, are we still alone?"

John glances over to where the crowd are dispersing. "Well, I don't think we're the flavour of the week any more."

The priestess crosses to them, followed by guards holding both sheets to cover them and their clothes. "Now the tribute has been paid, the transgression is no more. We are now free to negotiate."

"We'll send someone else through, if you don't mind," John says, defying her to say anything.

She studies him, her eyes sliding over to where his fingers are still wrapped around Rodney's wrist, and nods. "We look forward to it." Then she leaves them alone, hard stone under them and clothes in their hands.

They're dressed by the time Teyla and Ronon reach them.

"Colonel? Doctor? Are you both unharmed?"

"We're fine, Teyla." John answers for both of them. "Just, let's go home."

*

Once they're back on Atlantis, the time passes in a whirl of medical exams and debriefings, with Carson blushing redder than Elizabeth does when they hear the full story.

It's late when John finds himself standing outside Rodney's lab, door opening at his thought.

"Hi."

"Colonel," comes the reply, Rodney not even looking up from his laptop.

You called me John on the planet, he doesn't say. "Are we okay?" he asks.

"We're fine."

And like that, he's dismissed with only a couple of words.

The door is sliding open to let him back out of the lab when Rodney's voice stops him. "Colonel?"

He turns around just in time to catch whatever Rodney is throwing at him, fingers curling around what feels like soft leather as he looks down at the collar in his hand. He looks over at Rodney, eyebrow raised in question.

"My room, tonight." Rodney grins. "And John? This time, you wear the collar."


End file.
